The Last Battle
by zsp
Summary: Set between Season 7 & 8. Christopher Foyle, recently retired as DCS in Hastings, travels to post-war America to track down and prosecute powerful industrialist Howard Paige ("Fifty Ships") for murder and patent fraud. In the process he must deal with the obstacles Paige puts in his way, a deeply troubled old friend, and his own past. (In Progress-Let me know what you think so far)
1. Chapter 1

_**The Last Battle**_

Set between Series 7 & 8 of _Foyle's War_. Based on information and plot from "Fifty Ships," "All Clear", "Killing Time," "The Hide" and "The Eternity Ring."

**Landrecies, France**

**August 25, 1914**

Bullets whistled around Christopher Foyle as he attempted to lift the stretcher. The War Office had rejected his attempt to enlist as an infantryman-too small they'd said. Wouldn't be able to carry heavy loads. 'Bet if they saw me now they'd have another think' he mused bitterly, as he hauled the 250-pound man into the waiting ambulance. His reverie was interrupted when a spent bullet shattered the glass in an ambulance window.

The Gerries had come out of nowhere, arising like ghosts from the field. The exhausted men charged with guarding the retreat had been resting, even sleeping, told they were safe in this new defensive position, that the Enemy were still held up near Mons, nursing their wounded. Those who'd been through the fierce fighting there could only describe it as a nightmare, bullets mowing men down like grass. The other side had taken it as least as bad as the BEF-surely they'd have no heart for the chase.

But all of a sudden, there they were, as ferocious and ravenous as the fierce African Lions Foyle had seen in storybook illustrations, descending on the once pristine little village.

All hell had broken loose. Men were shot where they slept, horses panicked and neighed. Bullets flew, men shouted orders, or just screamed with abject fear. The pressure that had been building up in the past few days due to this unexpected retreat had finally gotten to one officer. He started wildly shooting his revolver down a street full of British soldiers, until a German bullet mercifully took his life. A small group of brave souls had taken some cover and started firing back, but it was little use. The Germans had come in overwhelming force. They'd soon overwhelm the small rearguard, possibly the whole Allied force. The Kaiser might once again triumphantly parade down the Champs d' Elysees.

There was a spray of bullets. Foyle ducked instinctively as the bullets tore through the canvas of the ambulance. There was a scream and a thud. It was Harold, the other medic. A stretcher fell to the ground and the wounded man groaned. Foyle crawled over to Harold and felt his pulse.

Nothing.

Another bullet flew by. Very well, he would have to it himself. Springing into action, he grabbed the wounded man, and with all his strength hauled him into the ambulance. The man groaned and swore a string of epithets. "Sorry old chap, you'll thank me later." He raced to the cab of the lorry. It was listing severely. Looking down, Foyle noticed the tire was completely flat. A bullet must have pierced it. He scowled. A light rain began to fall. Foyle quickly wormed his way into the cab of the vehicle. He would simply have to make do. He ducked as something whizzed through the air and hit the windshield, shattering it.

Looking the young medic could see Germans advancing just a few feet behind the ambulance. The olive uniforms of his comrades were fading away down the road, keeping up a steady rearward fire. Foyle turned on the ignition and slammed his foot into the accelerator. The lumbering vehicle lurched forward, to the screams and curses of the wounded in the back. Gray uniforms raced in front of him from a side street. Surprised to see a vehicle, any vehicle coming towards them, they opened fire. The bullets ricocheted off the back of the cab and tore up the hood of the ambulance. Foyle stomped on the accelerator, crashing it straight through the men in front of him. He could hear the sickening thuds, the horrible sounds of death. Bright red blood slapped the side of his face-whether his or his foes he knew not. He could still see their faces, the flashes of their rifles, he could hear the horrible sounds, the screams, he could feel the hot piece of metal piercing his shoulder, until he finally collapsed on the ground at the field hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own _Foyles's War_ and aren't making any money off it. This story uses information from "Fifty Ships," "All Clear", "Killing Time," "The Hide" and "The Eternity Ring."

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**Chapter 2**

**New York Harbor, January 1946**

Christopher Foyle sighed exasperatedly as he sat up in his small bunk belowdecks.

The noise of the masses milling on deck had grown too loud for him to ignore. He always kept conservative hours, going to bed early in the evening and rising relatively late, but he'd had trouble adjusting to the time difference. He glanced at his watch and made a few quick calculations. it must be noon in New York.

The ship's steam whistle bellowed. He could here feet running now in the hallway-they must be getting close.

There was a metallic rap on the door. Foyle quickly made himself presentable.

"Come in."

A young man in uniform poked his head in. "Mis'r Foyle, we're almost to the narrows now. You can see Lady Liberty and N'York real clear, sir."

He noticed Foyle's grogginess.

"I know you're tired sir, but believe me, you don't want to miss this view. Seeing the New York skyline on the horizon is something you'll remember the rest of your life."

Foyle smiled lopsidedly. He _was _officially retired now, after all. And he _was_ in America. What would Sam say if he came back without having seen a few sights. And Andrew would certainly tease him about his lack of adventure.

He was in fact in America not on pleasure but on business. His goal was to hunt down American industrialist and war profiteer Howard Paige, whom he swore he'd find and bring to justice 5 years before after the man had murdered a former associate from whom he had stolen plans for a lucrative invention, then used his status as the broker of a major arms deal to gain immunity from prosecution. It would be a difficult and thankless task, but it had to be done. He saw no reason why he shouldn't enjoy himself a little here and there while he could.

"I'll be up shortly Private Billings," he said, flashing another brief smile. The soldier grinned and ducked out.

The deck was crowded with onlookers as Foyle came on deck. Every square foot of the deck seemed to be covered with servicemen and their loved ones. In front of him, a young couple exchanged loving glances and squeezed each other's hands.

'I was like that once,' he thought to himself. 'Young, in love, my whole life before me.' For a moment, his precious wife was there, young and beautiful, untouched by pain or death, staring out at New York Harbor with him. But he knew she wasn't there, it was just a daydream, wishful thinking. He frowned and his eyes drooped.

Suddenly there was a commotion behind him.

"Hey, Mister Foyle! Good to see you! Come along with us!" A group of soldiers he'd gotten to know particularly well coaxed him through the crowd to the railing.

"Is this your first time in New York, Mister Foyle?"

"Yes. I hear it's quite the city."

"It's the most vibrant, exciting place on earth Mr. Foyle. Broadway. Times Square. The L. Skyscrapers reaching up to the clouds."

"Okay Oklahoma," one of the others soldiers with a strong New York accent teased, to laughs from the rest of the soldiers. "The kid's from the Great Plains, out west. Tallest thing he ever saw was a windmill." Another roar of laughter.  
"Not true! I saw a pretty tall oil derrick once!" More laughter. A smile appeared on Foyle's face. He found Americans a bit raucous and loud sometimes, but they spoke their mind, and he could appreciate that.

"There it is!" someone called out, echoed by a hundred other voices. "Lady Liberty!"

The massive statue rose out of the harbor, her outstretched welcoming visitors, declaring that they would find freedom and asylum here. Behind her, another beacon beckoned: the massive glass and steel monoliths of southern Manhattan, gleaming in the sun. Hundreds of boats flitted to and fro across the busy harbor. The whole city seemed to bustle with activity.

It was truly magnificent. America stood almost untouched by the global war that had left ruins from the Pacific to the Atlantic, from the icy Arctic to the hot sands of the Sahara. He thought of Hastings, of London, of England really, still dotted with the shells of bombed out buildings, still on strict rations, barely able to pay its debts. And here was bustling, prosperous America hardly missing a step. It was truly amazing.

The sound of a band wafted softly over the deck. Slowly, the source of the music came into view: a US Army tugboat with a giant sign reading "Welcome Home! Well Done!"

The crowds on deck roared and whistled. The outpouring of patriotism and celebration was contagious sweeping across the entire ship.

But amid the clamor, Foyle noted something strange. The band had stopped playing. While some of the welcoming party on the tugboat kept celebrating, many simply stopped and gaped, or stared blankly.

"Why are they acting like that?" Foyle asked a soldier next to him.

"It's because we're black."

Foyle shot him a surprised look, but it quickly faded. The troopship he was on was almost exclusively transporting African-American soldiers. For Foyle, the novelty had worn off long ago, replaced by mutual friendship and respect. If there was anything out of place, it was him, the only 66-year old Englishman on board.

He frowned. Hadn't they just fought a war against prejudice and brutish aggression. And yet here they were.

"No all Americans are like that Mr. Foyle," one soldier reassured him.

Foyle smiled wryly. "Yes. I know."

But something was clear. Beneath the shiny chrome exterior, post-war America was alot less glossy than it seemed.

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**Thanks for reading and to all of you who have left reviews so far! Sorry for the wait! I'll have more soon...**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own _Foyles's War_ and aren't making any money off it. This story uses information from "Fifty Ships," "All Clear", "Killing Time," "The Hide" and "The Eternity Ring."

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**Chapter 3**

******Foley Square Courthouse***, New York City, 2 weeks later

Foyle stood on the vast portico of the federal courthouse pondering the massive four-story pillars, the decorative artwork. His mind drifted to his son. Andrew had taken a few art history classes at university. He could imagine quietly listening as Andrew explained the significance of the various animals, plants, and classical motifs carved into the imposing granite walls. He sighed.

His son was thousands of miles away. He'd used some RAF connections to land a cushy office job in London and was much to busy to send a note to his old man in Hastings, much less peruse architectural landmarks.

The former detective had of course telegraphed Andrew to tell him he was leaving for America, but all he had received in response was a brief telegram wishing him good luck. It was all part of growing up, Foyle supposed. He thought about the conversation he'd had with Howard Paige at the dinner party. Foyle had said that though he had been a policeman like his father, Andrew was different from him, and he had no expectation that Andrew would follow in his footsteps. That very same night, Paige had deprived a son of his father, to avoid paying that son so that son could go to school to be something different than his father. that had ultimately resulted in Foyle coming to America, where, if all went as planned, Paige's children would be deprived of their father. It was a strange mess. That was the thing about crime, about immorality really-it's poisonous effects spread uncontrollably harming friend, foe, loved ones, and people you've never met. That's what had kept Foyle going during the war, what fueled his fight against the petty thieves, smugglers, moonshiners, as well as the murderers, rapists, even the rare saboteur. The effects were never isolated. There was always collateral damage.

Foyle suddenly heard quiet footfalls on the stone, barely audible above the noise and bustle of the city.

He swung around.

A young newspaper boy was standing there looking at him. He couldn't have been older than 12. When he saw that Foyle noticed him, he quickly looked down. In his hands was a newspaper.

"What paper are you selling?," Foyle asked.

"New York Times, sir." The boy said, a little startled by Foyle's accent. "Would you like a copy?"

The boy thrust the newspaper he was holding into Foyle's hands.

"How much do I owe you?" Foyle said, a bit perturbed.

"Nothing, sir. Pre-paid." The boy ran off down the stone stairs to his bike.

There was something odd about this. The man he was supposed to meet had failed to show up, and this boy had suddenly appeared around the same time. He carefully began leafing through the pages of the newspaper. Suddenly he came across a note, quickly catching it before it fell to the ground.

Scrawled on the piece of legal stationary was the message "Think I've got a tail. East River Park."

Foyle slowly looked up from the paper and scanned the area. If his contact had a tail, he just might too. Howard Paige was a powerful man. He'd had muscle in England, he certainly would have muscle on his own turf.

There were two rather bulky looking guys standing in Foley Square across the street. Both seemed to be making frequent glances in his direction. He walked to his right a little as if to leave the portico. Sure enough, the men across the street got antsy.

Very well. He couldn't well outrun them. He'd have to outsmart them. He glanced at his watch then slowly made his way into courthouse.

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*Now the Thurgood Marshall United States Courthouse


End file.
